A Loving Man

A Loving Man
Cait London

Rose Granger had preferred life in Waterville before Stefan Donatien began to call it home. Now the restaurateur turned up in her paint store, her kitchen, her every thought–some of them blazing hot.But she doused her fiery, forbidden thoughts. For the big-city businessman could never be satisfied with the serene beauty of small-town life and the woman who matched it perfectly….Stefan had never burned so fiercely for any woman…fate had singled out Rose as his. And with every penetrating kiss, he felt her resistance dwindle–and her sensuality soar. Now it was only a matter of time, and exquisite loving, before Rose surrendered to the ultimate truth–that their union was inevitable…and everlasting!

“The Journey To Your Heart, And Your Bed, Is A Difficult One.”

“Do you always have to come straight to the point?” Rose asked. Leaning against the front-porch post, his cotton shirt unbuttoned above his crossed arms and wearing jeans like any other Waterville male, Stefan took her breath away.

Rose forced herself back to the garden of reason, picking out the weeds of temptation. She’d known him for only two weeks; he came from a different world. He would be leaving, once boredom hit him—or summer ended.

“Yes, I do always come to the point.”

She stared meaningfully at Stefan. He looked more like lover material than a husband. Rose didn’t want to dip into dreams safely tucked away. “I think you’d better leave.”

“Very well. But I want you to think about this—I have waited too long for a woman like you. The single women of Waterville have started hunting me, and I want you to call them off. I cannot oblige the not-so-subtle invitations to their beds, because I intend to be in yours.”

A Loving Man

Cait London

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CAIT LONDON

lives in the Missouri Ozarks but loves to travel the Northwest’s gold rush/cattle drive trails every summer. She enjoys research trips, meeting people and going to Native American dances. Ms. London is an avid reader who loves to paint, play with computers and grow herbs (particularly scented geraniums right now). She’s a national bestselling and award-winning author, and she has also written historical romances under another pseudonym. Three is her lucky number; she has three daughters, and the events in her life have always been in threes. “I love writing for Silhouette,” Cait says. “One of the best perks about all this hard work is the thrilling reader response and the warm, snug sense that I have given readers an enjoyable, entertaining gift.”

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

One

“You’re old-fashioned and don’t know what it is to be young.” His daughter’s words raked Stefan Donatien; their argument of the early morning still scalded him. “You can’t keep me as a child forever,” Estelle had said furiously.

Brooding about her temper, a match to his own, Stefan had escaped the farmhouse he had just purchased. His mission into Waterville, a small Midwestern town, provided a time in which to recover and reshape his defenses. His mother, Yvette, often agreed with Estelle. A man alone against a volatile, twenty-year-old daughter, and his French mother, Stefan often had to find “caves” into which to retreat. They loved him, and he returned that love, but his women could be difficult at times, united against him.

Though he was born in the United States, his daughter and French-born mother, Yvette, often accused him of being “old-world.” “Perhaps if you had a lover, you would not be so obsessed with keeping Estelle a child,” his mother had stated. “You may have buried your heart with your wife, Claire, but you did not bury your life. At your age, I was already a grandmère and I did not stop living when your father passed on. You are only forty-two, and yet you are old before your time. See there? A gray hair.”

Stefan inhaled the early May air and tried to settle his raw nerves, raked by the formidable women he loved deeply. They might see him as an overbearing tyrant, but every instinct he possessed told him to protect them.

He listened to the rumbling of the old pickup’s engine as he cruised into Waterville. The ancient farm pickup suited the rural Missouri town much better than the luxury car he’d used in Chicago. The small community, wedged amid the surrounding farms and rolling green mountains, was the perfect place in which to protect his daughter from Louie, alias The Freeloader.

Stefan scowled at the truck’s rearview mirror and at his right temple; his single gray hair gleamed, mocking him. In many ways, he felt as battered as the pickup that came with the Smith’s farm. It was only a matter of time before Louie took Estelle as a lover. To avoid that, Stefan had decided to give his daughter the one thing she’d always wanted—the experience of living in a small, Midwestern American town.

Stefan’s old pickup prowled by Waterville’s vegetable gardens lined with new green plants. Heavy with morning dew, pink and white peonies leaned against the picket fences and shade trees bordered the streets. A yellow school bus stopped to pick up children clustered on the sidewalk. Seated on their porch swings, women with curlers in their gray hair whispered about the new owner of the Smith farm as he passed. A widower with a slight accent, a beautiful twenty-year-old daughter and an enchanting, happy French mother was certain to be noticed.

It was only the third day since Stefan had moved his family to the rural community. With the exception of clashing with him over Estelle’s adult status, they seemed happy. It wasn’t easy uprooting his family and moving them to the safety of the small town. But then Stefan was a powerful businessman who knew how to make decisions, especially when his daughter was endangered. As soon as Estelle’s college finals were over, Stefan had put his plan to protect his daughter into motion. A trusted friend and employee now managed the restaurant line that Stefan’s father had begun, Donatien’s French Cuisine Restaurants.

His father, Guy, would have dealt harshly with Estelle, just as he had with his boy, Stefan, demanding perfection and obedience.

Stefan smiled tightly, remembering his father and better understanding the fear that sometimes ruled a parent. Guy had wanted the best for Stefan, just as Stefan wanted the best for Estelle.

He inhaled abruptly. Though he loved his father, he did not favor Guy’s strict parental control and too high standards. Stefan had promised himself not to be so exacting and controlling with his daughter. He wasn’t happy that his protective-father-mode sometimes erupted into just that—“I forbid you” sounded exactly like his father. His headache started to throb in rhythm to the rumble of the old vehicle’s engine.

A horde of young boys on bicycles soared past him, and Stefan braked slowly. Beneath the ball caps turned backward on their heads, their expressions were wary and curious of the new stranger. Even the dog, running at their side, noted Stefan’s presence with excited barking.

At least Estelle was safe for the moment, her insolent, lazy boyfriend in Chicago.

Stefan’s hands tightened on the old steering wheel as he heard his snarl. With long dirty hair and baggy pants, Louie had already started asking for handouts from Stefan. Louie had made it clear that he would not lower himself to work in the renowned Donatien Restaurants. Estelle was like her mother at that age: innocent and trusting, and she did not notice Louie’s gaze stripping other girls, or his flirtation. Stefan recognized the look of lust, though he had been celibate since the death of his wife ten years ago.

Stefan rolled his taut shoulders as he parked in front of Granger’s Wallpaper and Paint store. He had the summer until his daughter went back to college; Louie was certain to be unfaithful and Estelle would be protected.

He stepped from the pickup, and glanced down at his unfamiliar clothing—jeans, a T-shirt and worn jogging shoes. At this time of day in Chicago, he would be dressed in a suit, busy in his office. Later on, he would dismiss his jacket and vest and roll up his sleeves, put on an apron and enjoy cooking in a Donatien kitchen. He couldn’t wait for the fresh herb starts that he had ordered to arrive; soon only the best fresh farm eggs, milk and butter would go into his omelettes, a dash of chopped chives, a sprinkle of—

Stefan inhaled the fresh morning air, studied the small neat town with its shops opening for customers. His mother and daughter weren’t the only ones looking forward to life in Waterville; he planned to enjoy puttering on the farm. He smiled, enjoying the sunshine. His women were happy, nestling into the farmhouse, decorating it, and in his pocket were the paint samples his mother had chosen on her two-mile bicycle ride to town. Busy with the plumbing, Stefan had enjoyed exploring the tools the Smiths had left behind. A man who had never had a vacation, he intended to relax in this interlude while Estelle came to her senses. Life was good…without Louie.

He entered the busy paint store, prepared to wait his turn as other customers milled around the cash register. A tall woman, wearing a baseball cap with her auburn ponytail thrust through the hole at the back, glanced at him. She hefted a gallon of paint onto the counter, slapped two wooden paint stirrers on it, rang up the bill and chatted with the customer. When the burly farmer, dressed in bib overalls, rambled out of the store, the woman scowled at Stefan. Clearly in charge of the store, the woman behind the counter wore a T-shirt that said Waterville Tigers. She was possibly in her early thirties, with soaring eyebrows, clear blue eyes, a bit of a nose and a generous mouth. Freckles covered every centimeter of her fair skin. She tapped costs into the cash register for more paint and nodded at Stefan, indicating the gallons of paint on the counter. He shook his head, not understanding her needs. With a doomed look up at the ceiling, the woman grabbed one gallon and tucked it under her arm. She eased the other into her free arm and tromped out of the store, following the elderly woman.

Stefan noted and appreciated the length of the younger woman’s legs, the cutoff shorts cupping a trim, swaying bottom. The wooden paint stirrer sticks in her back pocket enhanced the movement. He was surprised that he had tilted his head to better appreciate that little feminine jiggle of flesh at her backside. She walked back into the store, strode to him and shook her head as Stefan noted the slant of her eyes, those strong cheekbones gleaming in the overhead light. The drop of cobalt-blue paint on her cheeks matched the color of her eyes as they burned up at him. The shadows beneath her eyes said she had missed sleep and the area around her mouth was pale, demonstrating her strain.

She reached to tug away the two bits of toilet paper on his jaw. He had been unwise to shave after the furious argument with his daughter; the small cuts marked his broken promise to remain calm. A man who spared little time on women of moods, except his daughter and his mother, Stefan firmed his lips. He was determined not to let this woman ruin his day. Then she said, “I know you can’t talk—you’re the cousin that Ned Whitehouse told me needed work. I told him to have you turn up and work, helping me. Well, that’s what you should be doing—helping. You could have carried out that paint for Mrs. Mariah. Come on. Follow me.”

She moved through the displays of paint and carpeting toward the back room, behind the checkout counter. Unused to taking orders, Stefan stood still and crossed his arms.

The woman continued talking—“I want you to clean up the storeroom and then fix that back door—it’s almost coming off the hinges. One good yank and hell-o—free paint for everyone. Not that anyone in Waterville steals, but a good business should have a good back door, don’t you agree?”

Stefan thought of the alarm systems and locks he’d required on all Donatien restaurant back doors, ones made of sturdy metal, and nodded.

When she noted that he had not followed her, she turned and those arching fine eyebrows drew into a stern frown. She walked back to him, her hands on her hips. Stefan tried not to notice the T-shirt that had tightened across her breasts. They were just the size of medium cooking apples, not too big or too small, but just perfect.

Stefan frowned, unprepared for the turn of his thoughts. He did not usually compare women to his favorite pastimes—choosing fine foods, preparing and enjoying them.